


Night Shift

by Fenris



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Humor, Kink Meme, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenris/pseuds/Fenris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Response to a prompt on the WM Kinkmeme 5 which requested an AU where Dan and Walter are still Nite Owl and Rorschach; but while Dan and Walter are friends and perhaps even work in the same place, neither of them knows about the other's secret vigilante identity.</p><p>This is my take on the prompt, an AU in which Dan and Walter are both paramedics on the same ambulance team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Shift

Dan sipped his coffee and made a face. "Oh God, this is yours. Hand me mine and an insulin shot, will you?"

He shuddered and exchanged the poisonously sweet cup of takeout coffee for the one currently clutched in his partner's hand. Walter took the coffee from Dan without comment and inhaled a huge swig of it, Adam's apple bobbing enthusiastically in his throat as he gulped it down.

Dan took a modest sip of his own coffee (cream and two sugars) and grimaced as he watched Walter take another big slug and lick his lips afterward with a little ' _hmm_ ' of satisfaction. "Eugh. It just floors me that you can drink it like that. Why don't you just skip the coffee and ask them to give you a Styrofoam cup full of sugar, man?"

"Need the caffeine too, Daniel."

The dispatcher came on the radio, voice crackling around the edges with static. Dan frowned and made a mental note to tinker with the ambulance radio tomorrow, it sounded like there was a bad connection in there somewhere.

"Hey, 171, it's Amy. Dan, Walt, you guys on the clock?"

Walter grabbed the handset before Dan could get to it. "Just coming off break. What do you have?"

"Call for medical transport for an unconscious patron at a bar." She continued with the address and Walter jotted it down on his notepad. Dan sighed and retrieved their sandwiches from inside the glove compartment, still wrapped in waxed paper from the deli.

It would have been nice to have time to sit and eat his dinner while _not_ zipping through the streets at high speed, but that wasn't in the cards tonight. Because for some reason, instead of letting another rig take the call while they had their dinner break, Dan's partner was evidently dying to go mop up after a bar fight.

Steering with one hand, his eyes fixed firmly on the road, Walter accelerated down the street while Dan flipped the switches that turned on the siren and whoopee lights.

Walter held his coffee cup out and let Dan exchange it for his sandwich, which Walter then proceeded to bolt down in several huge ravenous bites. Dan watched while holding his partner's coffee for him, impressed as always by how much food Walter could put away in the twinkling of an eye and thinking his partner looked like a grizzly bear inhaling salmon in a pre-hibernation feeding frenzy.

After it was gone, he still looked hungry. Dan handed Walter's coffee back to him and then hastily unwrapped his own sandwich and started eating it before Walter could get any ideas. Speaking around a half-chewed mouthful of chicken salad on rye he observed, "You were a little hungry, weren't you man? Been forgetting to eat again?"

Walter shrugged and muttered something indistinct, which Dan figured he was just as well off not understanding. He took a sidelong look at his partner and saw there were definite bags under Walter's eyes and his unshaven jaw was shadowed with gingery stubble. His messy shock of orange-red hair was uncombed too, but that was standard procedure. Still, Dan's partner was definitely looking fatigued.

 _He's been looking pretty rough for the last couple of weeks, actually. I wonder if he's moonlighting at a second job or something? I know money's tight for him._

Still chewing, Dan looked at the address scribbled on the notepad and made a noise of distaste. He knew exactly where they were going. The address belonged to a grimy little shithole of a bar in a grimy little shithole of a neighborhood, and he and Walter had been there on ambulance calls at least a dozen times so far this year. And from what Dan had observed on other occasions when he'd visited this place while engaged at his _other_ job, it was also a popular hangout for pimps, hookers, and dealers.

The owner and primary bartender was a greasy little dirtbag who reminded Dan of a sleazy version of Mr. Whipple, the grocer in those toilet paper commercials who had a fetish for squeezing rolls of toilet paper while leering at them like they were a Vegas showgirl's ass. The bar owner always had the same grin on his face. Dan supposed it was the reason that the customers called him Happy Harry.

Harry's grin, unfortunately, wasn't the kind of cheerful open expression that made you think of Jimmy Stewart. Instead it was a vaguely slimy and nervous shifty smile that made Dan think of the kind of lowlife who hung around elementary school playgrounds paying way too much attention to the kids.

Dan and Walter had a half-serious running bet (no money involved, of course) about what kind of illegal business Harry was running out of the back of his bar. Walter's standing opinion was that Harry was involved in child pornography; Dan's current guess was that Harry was running a sex slave ring.

Regardless of what Harry's extracurricular activities might be, though, it was a rare week when there wasn't at least one ambulance call to Happy Harry's establishment. This was evidently not one of those rare weeks.

They pulled up outside of the bar, unloaded the stretcher and headed in. As they entered, Dan looked around and saw the same assortment of dubious citizens that he'd seen every other time he'd been here; the one thing he didn't see, however, was a body stretched out on the floor. Just then he spotted the bar owner waving at them.

"Over here, fellas!"

As they approached him, Happy Harry's jovial smile slipped a little when he saw them. More specifically, when he saw Walter; Harry and Dan's partner have had words from time to time. "Oh, it's you guys again."

Walter shot him a look, and Harry's smile slid completely off his face for a moment. Looking distinctly nervous now, he pointed to a man sitting at a table near the end of the bar. "He's right over there; he just woke up a few minutes ago."

Obviously not unconscious any more, their customer was sitting at the indicated table, a red-stained dishtowel pressed to his head. Wearing an open army jacket, ratty jeans and steel-toed boots, he was a big bear of a man with massive arms. Slipping ungracefully into middle age, the thick muscles in his torso were partly obscured by an encroaching layer of fat and his long sandy blond hair, held back in a ponytail, was beginning to thin on top. He still looked, though, like he could cause Dan and Walter (or anyone else who got in his way) a whole lot of trouble if he so chose. There was no sign of any other combatant so Dan assumed that whoever had cracked this guy over the head was long gone.

He knew better than to ask what had happened; if this guy wanted to call the cops he'd have done it already. Instead, Dan just stepped up and gave the injured man his most reassuring smile. "Hi sir, what's your name?"

He gave Dan an unloving look and muttered, "Carl. Hey, I told them I didn't need no ambulance."

Dan nodded, still smiling, and said, "Hi Carl. I'm Dan and this is Walter. Okay, I hear you, but since we're here now let's at least put a bandage on that cut, all right? Can I ask you a few questions?"

With increasingly ill grace, Carl tolerated Dan shining a light in his eyes and asking him what day it was and who was president while Walter silently applied a pressure bandage to the oozing wound on his scalp.

When Dan took his arm and tried to encourage him to stand up so they could move him onto the stretcher, though, Carl scowled and shook his hand off, snarling, "Fuck off! I'm not gonna go to any fuckin' hospital. Charge me five hundred dollars for a fuckin' cab ride with Band-Aids. No way."

Puzzled, Dan started to reassure him that they didn't need any money from him, they'd bill his insurance or Medicaid if he wasn't insured. Carl, unimpressed, just re-stated that he wasn't going anywhere, so they could just cram it.

Dan sighed and rubbed his chin. "Sir, are you refusing medical assistance and transport to the emergency room?"

"Yes, Goddamn it! I'm not going anywhere with you assholes! Fuck off!"

Walter studied the man for a long moment; from snarling glower to his defensive body posture to the way he kept one hand hovering near a bulging pocket in his army surplus jacket. He ' _hrmphed_ ' and looked at Dan, tilting his head to indicate Carl.

"Doesn't want a ride because he's holding." He cocked an eyebrow at Carl. "Right?"

Carl's response was immediate and explosive. "What!?? You got a lotta fuckin' nerve, you little bastard! Who says I'm holding?" He looked around as if he expected that at least a few of his fellow bar patrons would back him up, but no one leaped to his immediate defense. Most of them suddenly got busy with their own drinks.

Dan regarded the mountainous Carl for a moment, noting that the man's pupils looked fine and he wasn't swaying or looking dizzy, and shrugged.

 _Okay, I tried. Let him get one of his biker pals to drive him over to the ER and get that head wound stitched. Doubt he has a concussion anyway, you probably couldn't crack that big coconut he's got sitting between his shoulders with a sledgehammer._

"All right sir, you should probably get yourself to an emergency room and get that head wound looked at, it looks like you're going to need stitches. And if you start feeling dizzy, call an ambulance or get someone to take you to the hospital, all right?" And with that, Dan muttered to Walter "Come on, buddy, let's get out of here," and turned around to start back toward the front door.

Carl spared a parting glare for him, but most of his ire was now directed toward Dan's partner who was still standing in front of Carl and staring at him unblinking, the tiniest of smirks quirking the edge of his mouth. Walter's expression seemed to ramp Carl's ire up another notch or five, and he snarled down into the smaller man's face. "Get the _fuck_ out of my face, you homely little motherfucker."

Halfway to the front door, Dan winced and stopped in his tracks. That was the name Walter really didn't like. He did an about-face and headed back toward his partner and their new pal, Carl.

Walter's eyes narrowed and his tiny smirk became a frosty humorless smile. Way too calmly, he looked up into Carl's reddened face. "What did you say?"

Carl snorted. "What, are you deaf, too? You heard me, you fugly little troll. What'sa matter, you didn't like that? You want to start something, maybe give me some shit?"

He grabbed a large half-full bottle of Big Boy beer off of a nearby table and held it in front of Walter's stony face. "Go ahead and try it, I'll bend you over and stick this Big Boy bottle right up your faggot ass." Carl then leaned down until his face was mere inches away from Walter's and enunciated carefully. "You Little. Mother. _Fucker_." He slammed the bottle back down on the table next to Walter and glared into his eyes. "Now, get lost!"

Walter's eyes went ice cold and he bared his teeth in something that looked like a smile but wasn't. Dan girded himself to jump in and prevent his partner from killing this guy.

But just then Carl finally seemed to recognize the real and imminent danger in Walter's flat stare and tight grin, and after a moment of disturbed confusion, he suddenly deflated and stepped away, snarling, "Screw this! I don't need the fuckin' aggravation. Probably gonna call the cops on me soon as you're out the door. I'm outta here." He stormed toward the front door and slammed it open, turning around for a final face-saving "Little mother _fucker!_ " before stomping out.

The background noise in the bar quieted down to practically nothing as most of the patrons were now watching Walter with real interest, waiting to see what he'd do. Dan looked nervously at Walter. His partner simply stood there displaying a chillingly serene calm that was scaring the shit out of Dan. He'd far rather Walter were glowering and muttering.

His expression bland as vanilla pudding, Walter looked at Dan and said, "Think we're done here. Need to visit men's room before we leave."

He turned and marched toward the back of the bar. The half-dozen or so people who were standing in his way demonstrated excellent survival instincts by scattering like flushed quail to get out of Walter's path. He disappeared into the back hallway.

Dan had to wonder about that, because normally Walter would rather have unzipped in the middle of the field at Yankee Stadium before using the men's room in a place like Happy Harry's.

 _Maybe he just wants to go bust something up in the bathroom to get it out of his system_ , thought Dan. _Hope he doesn't rip the sink off the wall._

He was actually rather pleased with Walter right now, because Dan had fully expected his partner to just drag the obnoxious Carl outside and unload on him, beating him into next week.

For the last month or so Dan had been valiantly trying to convince Walter that that he was perhaps a little too touchy and ready to resort to violence, and that you could always catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. But this was the first time he'd seen Walter actually back down from a fight.

 _Huh. Maybe he has been listening to me. That would be a first. Proud of you, buddy!_

So Dan leaned against the table and waited. And waited. As he waited, he observed several nervous-looking individuals popping in and out of the tiny "private function room" behind the bar and wondered if he shouldn't pay Harry's place another visit later on tonight as Nite Owl after he knocked off work.

The minutes ticked on by. Dan sighed and checked his watch again. Fifteen minutes now. Just as he was about to stroll back there and ask Walter if they were going to be living here now, Dan glanced down at the table and realized that the Big Boy bottle was gone. A horrible suspicion took hold of his imagination.

Telling himself that he was being paranoid and that Walter would have _had_ to walk right past him if he'd left the bar in pursuit of Carl, Dan made his way toward the back of the bar. He walked down the narrow hallway that led to the men's room and went into the bathroom.

Dan looked around and saw no one in the room but him. He bent down and looked under the stalls, but there was no sight of Walter's boots or of anyone else's footwear; Dan had the place to himself.

"Crap."

He looked around, then up as if he expected to find his partner somehow hanging off of the ceiling like a bat. A narrow window that in better times had afforded a view of the alley in back of the bar was locked and painted over.

 _Well, what the hell? He couldn't have gone out the emergency exit at the end of the hall, it's got one of those pushbar alarm things that goes off if you open it._

Just then the transom over the painted-over window creaked and moved inward. Dan was then treated to the sight of his partner's boots, then his legs coming through the resulting space.

He watched, open-mouthed, as Walter eeled through the narrow opening and eased his way in, the ropy muscles in his arms and shoulders standing out impressively as he held himself by his arms, hanging onto the upper sill before dropping lightly to land almost noiselessly on his toes.

Walter whirled around and went into a crouch, fists up, then relaxed as he recognized Dan. Ignoring Dan's stunned expression, he breezed coolly past, saying, "Apologies for the delay. Let's go Daniel, we've wasted enough time here."

They headed for the front door, Dan trying to keep a cool countenance while hissing "What did you _do?_ " in his partner's ear. Walter ignored him.

As they approached the front door one of the bar customers charged in from the outside, looking wildly around. His gaze lit on them and he looked pathetically relieved.

"Aw, thank God you guys are still here! Carl must have passed out, or somebody jumped him or something; he's laying out in the alley knocked out cold. You guys gotta take him to the hospital, maybe he's got a--a concussion, or something!"

Dan rolled his eyes and gave Walter a tight smile, saying, "Oh? Yeah, thank God we were still here, huh?"

Walter grunted in agreement and nodded, looking serene.

***

Out in the alleyway, they surveyed the unconscious Carl. Dan exhaled a long-suffering sigh while massaging the back of his own neck, and snapped at his partner. "Really, man? _Really!?_

There was a faint edge of smugness around Walter's usually stoic expression as he looked down at Carl, shaking his head. Voice solemn, he said, "Dangerous neighborhood, Daniel. Not safe to loiter outside barrooms with a head injury. Makes you look vulnerable to muggers."

"Oh, shut up and just help me get him on the stretcher."

Ten minutes later, they finished loading Carl onto the ambulance. He lay face down on the stretcher, semi-conscious and groaning pitifully. Dan shook his head as he surveyed the man.

The gray wool blanket tossed over Carl's lower body revealed a normal body outline beneath it, except for one anomaly--a cylindrical protuberance was distinctly outlined under the blanket tenting it up over where the man's buttocks would normally have curved the fabric.

Dan lifted the blanket for another look and winced. It was, of course, the ill-starred Big Boy bottle, or the lower third of it anyway. The other two thirds were currently hidden from sight.

The ambulance engine started and Walter called back, "Daniel! Get in, time to go."

Dan took one last look, then dropped the blanket back into place and closed the rear doors. He made his way up to the passenger seat, flipped on the siren and the whoopee lights, and away they went.

Dan turned his head to look at Walter and hissed, "I can't _believe_ you did that!"

Walter shrugged and turned a bland look on him. "Bar fights can turn dangerous, Daniel." He accelerated down the street and took the next cross street that would take them toward the hospital.

Dan looked over his shoulder at the suffering figure face-down on the stretcher in the back of the ambulance and leaned in toward his partner, pitching his voice low. He was reasonably sure that Carl was still pretty much out of it and couldn't hear them up in the front of the ambulance, but it paid to be safe.

"What are you going to do when he wakes up and fingers you---" he broke off as Walter shot him a black scowl, "...I mean, when he gives them a description of his attacker?"

"Don't worry about it. Never saw my face. I came up behind him and put him in a sleeper hold first. He can speculate all he wants, but plausible deniability wins."

They rode in silence for a few minutes, then Dan started chuckling. Walter let it go for a few moments until his curiosity finally got the better of him and he glanced sideways at Dan, then quickly returned his eyes to the road. "What, Daniel?"

Dan looked at his partner's inscrutable profile and quietly asked, "Did you at least dump the beer out first?"

Walter paused for a moment, then turned to look Dan in the eye and deadpanned, " _Hurm_. Knew I forgot something."


End file.
